


A Bedding in the Vale

by vivilove



Series: Jonsa Drabbles [19]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Jon is a little dark, King Jon comes to the Vale, Sexual Content, Westerosi Matrimonial Bedding Tradition, but wants to protect Sansa, go ahead and assume creepyfinger dies soon after this ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26516200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: “I won't hurt you. Once we retire, we won’t do anything you do not wish…”But Baelish is on his feet, quieting the assembled lords and ladies. “I believe it’s time for the bedding!”  He claps his hands and the musicians start to play a bawdy tune.Just as quickly, they are silenced when Jon’s head whips around.  He stands, an imposing figure in his kingly raiment with Longclaw at his waist and wrath dripping from his tongue. “I'll take my bride to bed without ceremony, my lord.”“Oh but the bedding ceremony is a tradition, particularly valued here in the Vale, Your Grace! My Alayne is a maiden but prepared for what's expected. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your new allies, would you?”It's only that last point that gives Jon pause, she knows.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Jonsa Drabbles [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1190203
Comments: 52
Kudos: 223
Collections: Jonsa Autumn Drabbles 2020





	A Bedding in the Vale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morandir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morandir/gifts).



> For the drabblefest prompt-tradition
> 
> A gift for Morandir. I hope you like it :)
> 
> Thank you, Amy, for the lovely poster!

She covertly studies her new husband throughout the feast, wishing to escape the hall’s curious eyes. He glares at most everyone but then she'll catch him looking at her, at her hair. She'd washed the dye away this morning. What is he thinking?

In private, they’d agreed to marry. Petyr hadn't been pleased to have his schemes scuttled but said he wasn't remotely surprised that the King in the North would wish to marry his beloved Alayne.

She’s fully prepared for everything marrying Jon entails though he’s different than the boy she’d known, hard and cold at times like the North that reared him.

Nervously, she takes a gulp of her wine. Noticing, he leans forward, his hand lightly resting on her forearm. “I won't hurt you. Once we retire, we won’t do anything you do not wish…”

But Baelish is on his feet, quieting the assembled lords and ladies. “I believe it’s time for the bedding!” He claps his hands and the musicians start to play a bawdy tune.

Just as quickly, they are silenced when Jon’s head whips around. He stands, an imposing figure in his kingly raiment with Longclaw at his waist and wrath dripping from his tongue. “I'll take my bride to bed without ceremony, my lord.”

“Oh but the bedding ceremony is a tradition, particularly valued here in the Vale, Your Grace! My Alayne is a maiden but prepared for what's expected. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your new allies, would you?”

It's only that last point that gives Jon pause, she knows.

The hall is silent as the tomb. Everyone looks between the Lord Paramount of the Vale and the visiting King in the North who'd arrived a moon ago and suddenly declared his intensions to marry Littlefinger’s bastard daughter a sennight ago for reasons none of them can comprehend.

True, he’s a bastard as well. Perhaps that’s why.

But it isn’t.

 _He knows that Jon knows. He thinks to call our bluff,_ she realizes. He thinks Jon won't bed his half-sister for the sake of stealing her away North again.

_Except I am not Jon’s sister._

Clever as he is, Littlefinger doesn’t know everything after all.

Jon looks back at her, his expression shrewd but concerned. His purpose in coming here had been to gain the Vale as allies. It is a fragile alliance they’ve brokered. She knows this very well. What’s a little loss of dignity and her maidenhead for the chance to go home? She’d already expected him to bed her eventually anyway.

She gives him a nod and a smile she hopes conveys her agreement.

“Very well,” he says gruffly to her before turning his attention back to the hall. “But if any man offends my wife in word or deed, I'll take his head.”

Not very friendly of him. None are foolish enough to doubt him either.

She’s escorted to their chambers instead of carried there. Her dress is unlaced but with several ‘beg pardons' and only enough as to allow her to slip it off more readily.

She slides between the cool sheets wearing only her smallclothes. Every man present looks away…except one. She will not blanch from his hungry eyes though. He will never have her now. She is Jon’s.

Her groom is lacking his shirt and his breeches have been partially unlaced when he enters. She scowls at the giggling pack of ladies attending him. She almost wishes she wore a sword on her hip and had made a similar threat.

Jon seems oblivious to them though. His eyes nearly scorch her with their heat and intensity.

She sees the scars that cover his chest and a sad gasp escapes.

“No, no,” he says softly, ignoring the other occupants. “It’s alright.”

She’s not alone in seeing his scars. The tales will be circulated throughout the Vale about the man who came back from the dead, the King in the North who could not be killed with mere blades.

There are still a handful of intruders waiting for him to join her beneath the furs.

“All of you…get out!” How they scurry. “Listen at the door if you wish. I don’t care. But you will not watch.”

However, before Petyr escapes with the rest, Jon decides he has something to tell him. He whispers in his ear. Sansa watches his face turn pale long before Jon is finished.

Jon comes to bed as the door snaps shut behind them. “Are you alright? Did anyone hurt you?”

She shakes her head, unable to stop blushing. “He looked at me but he didn’t hurt me.”

“I’ll kill him once it can be done without fear of losing the others.”

“I’m not asking you to do that.”

“I will anyway.”

Deciding that she won't argue (truly, none would argue with him when he’s like this), she turns the current of their conversation. “I’m cold.”

“Then let me warm you.”

She opens her arms, inviting him closer. She kisses his cheek and then his mouth.

“We don’t have to,” he says as the kisses continue.

“But we will.”

“I will make it pleasant for you.”

 _You may try_ , she thinks, not believing it possible.

Oh, she is so wrong.

She wonders vaguely if any have lingered to listen. If they have, they are sure to hear the king’s new bride crying out quite often as he loves her, worshiping her with his mouth and fingers before he ever takes her maidenhead. And even that is far more enjoyable for a first time than she would’ve imagined. He is a skilled and patient lover no matter how hard and cold he may appear to others.

“What did you tell him before he left?” she asks, stroking his strong arm when they lay tangled together afterwards.

Jon’s lip twitch into a wry but wintry smile. “I told him he never had your mother and he'd never have you either.”

She should not laugh. And yet, she does.


End file.
